“Jessie!” Ben exclaimed. “What the devil are you doing here, sweet coz?”
“How do they fare?” she heard Christian ask.
Jessie’s eyes misted as she dropped to her knees beside Ben. “Where... were you shot?” Her voice faltered with joy and relief. Her fingers trembled as she took his hand.
Ben’s gaze skidded away. He closed his eyes for the briefest instant, his jaw working. “Who... who told you?”
Jessie’s gaze turned to where Christian knelt, examining Jean Paul, and then quickly returned to Ben.
Ben sighed, understanding her silent message. “It merely grazed me,” he yielded at last, turning to show her a small gash at his temple.
“Balderdash!”
Startled by the exclamation, Jessie immediately searched the cabin for the bearer of the voice. A white-haired man rose from beside Christian and started toward them, shaking his head. Bending purposely over Ben, he very unceremoniously yanked the coverlet from his limbs. Pointing to the wound upon Ben’s leg, he asked, “Does that look like a graze to ye, mum?” ‘
Jessie gasped, for Ben was bare beneath the blanket. She forced her gaze to remain, for the wound seemed hideous and she wanted so desperately to help. It was evident that he had bled a great deal, for there was blood encrusted upon his leg and a fair amount soaking the pallet beneath him. Yet it no longer bled, and for that she was deeply gratified.
Casting the old man an angry glare, Ben snatched the blanket back before Jessie could see more. He flushed, but noting herhorrified expression, he turned again to the old man. “What the devil do you know!” he snapped. “What are you trying to do? Frighten her to death?”
Amazingly, the old man glowered back at him. He snorted. “Tryin’ to save yer ungrateful hide, is all,” he grumbled. “What do ye think she’s here fer, anyhow?”
Returning his gaze to Jessie, Ben assured her, “Really, coz, ‘tis not as bad as it appears.” He gave a resentful nod in the old man’s direction. “The slug’s already been removed—and not too gently, I might add. ’Tis why it looks so bad and bled so much.”
“I see,” Jessie replied. “Who removed it?”
Turning to pierce the scowling white-haired old man with an indignant glare, he ground out, “Take one guess.”
“I’m certain, Ben, that he was only trying to help.” She shook her head, trying to keep at bay her emotions. “At any rate,” she told him, her eyes questioning, “It is not his fault you were wounded tonight, was it?”
“Crotchety pain-in-the-arse old man!” Ben grumbled, but his eyes misted suspiciously. He averted his gaze.
“Please...” She glanced up into the old man’s gentle brown eyes. “Bring me water and rags, and accept my apologies for my cousin’s discourteous behavior. It must be the pain that dims his sense of gratitude.”
The old man stared at her a long moment, clearly unused to such apologies and evidently bemused by her defense of him. He nodded suddenly and hurried away to do her bidding.
“You know not what you’re doing, abetting that man,” Ben said, still unable to look at her.
“Shush,” she said.
Reassured that anyone as contrary as Ben was too mean to die, she turned her attention to Jean Paul. In truth, she had no idea what else to say to her cousin, for she was seeing a side ofhim she’d never known existed. Nor was she entirely certain she wanted to know what had occurred tonight.
Christian moved away as Jessie neared, but she noted the way he watched her so intently. He didn’t trust her, she knew. Well, she didn’t care. She ignored him as best she could, turning to peer down into the slumbering man’s face. Her eyes widened and her gaze immediately returned to Christian. The resemblance between them was uncanny. How, she wondered, could Jean Paul not know Christian was his flesh and blood? Deciding they were a pair of stubborn old fools—and that they deserved one another—she turned again to Jean Paul.
Placing the back of her hand to his nostrils, she felt his warm breath against her skin and sighed in relief. Hesitantly, fearful of what she might discover beneath, she lowered the blanket from his chest to examine the wound at his shoulder.
It didn’t appear nearly as bad as she’d expected—Ben’s was worse, in fact. Still, judging by the stain upon his shirt, he, too, had bled quite a lot. Taking in the wide expanse of his chest, she peered up at Christian, unwittingly comparing the two. Christian gave her a narrow-eyed look, and her cheeks heated. She glanced quickly away, though Lord help her, she could scarcely keep her thoughts from straying where they should not, even now.
She felt suffocated with him so near.
She examined Jean Paul’s wound, completely at a loss as to what to do next. It appeared as though Quincy had ministered to him, as well, and she was silently grateful to the old man, for she truly doubted she could have done the unpleasant task herself. The awful truth was that Jessie wasn’t even certain she’d have known how to remove the ball in the first place—nor did she have the strength of stomach for it. The very sight of so much blood made her dizzy and sick. She wasn’t precisely experienced in this sort of thing, after all. She peered up at Christian inexasperation, silently asking him what he wished of her, because she didn’t know what to do.
“He regained consciousness a short time ago,” Ben revealed, “for an instant.”
Peering over her shoulder at her cousin, Jessie nodded and turned to place a hand to Jean Paul’s forehead. “He’s quite warm,” she added softly. “I-I’m not certain what to do... when I was ill, my maid Hildie would sponge me with cool water. It seemed to help—at least I think it did.”
“Do what you can for him.” The tone of Christian’s voice, the gravity with which he spoke, gave Jessie the impression that he’d come as close to begging as he was able.
She peered up at him.
